


blending into dusk

by aweekofsaturdays



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Making Out, Recreational Drug Use, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9834485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/pseuds/aweekofsaturdays
Summary: Summer is beautiful and warm, the grass seemingly greener than it’s ever been and Stiles knows it’s because he’s happy, knows he notices things like the color of the flowers on his walk home because Scott’s waiting for him to hear him tell about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Working title was "can i get a hell yeah" because reasons but then I felt like I should at least try a *little bit* to be a Serious Business Fic Writer....I still might change it.

Summer is beautiful and warm, the grass seemingly greener than it’s ever been and Stiles knows it’s because he’s happy, knows he notices things like the color of the flowers on his walk home because Scott’s waiting for him to hear him tell about it. Any story is worth it when it’s Scott, when it’s something new that they can share, when there’s so much history caught between them that really anything new is an appendix to an already-full life. 

Stiles loves coming home (to his home, their home together) and into the backyard and seeing Scott stretched out on one of their rickety law chairs Scott found God knows where, in the tiniest, slinkiest pair of boxer briefs Stiles has ever seen in his entire life. Stiles of course drops his bag and slumps dramatically on top of Scott, burying his face in his neck and groaning as Scott’s hands come up to bury themselves in Stiles’ hair.

Stiles’ groans turn soft as Scott scritches slowly, rubbing at the pressure points on his skull until Stiles goes limp on top of him, sighing happily. Scott’s so calm and so quiet and Stiles feels like he could just sleep here, in broad daylight, as long as Scott kept touching his hair like he was precious, like he was someone to be treasured. 

Scott’s hands continue lazily, rubbing at Stiles’ neck and further down. Stiles tucks his own hands under Scott’s shoulders and just breathes him in, pretends he can scent Scott like a wolf and know everything about him, wants to climb inside his skin just because that’s the only way he could think to ever get close enough sometimes. Scott shudders like he knows it, the depth of how much Stiles needs him, and it’s frightening but Scott wants to be needed and his hands are more frantic, more intentional on Stiles’ waist, slipping up underneath his shirt to thumb at his sharp hipbones. 

Even though it’s been only moments, it feels like they’ve been drunk on each other for hours, and when Stiles lifts his head and presses his lips to Scott’s, finally, it feels like everything, an affirmation and a solution. Stiles feels the last tensions of the day seep away as Scott rubs a hand over his lower back, soothing the aches there and leaving a warmth behind that tickles at Stiles, leaves him pressing closer, wanting more. 

Stiles thinks to himself idly that Scott has a wonderful tongue, like Stiles has kissed people before who were like slug tongues in his mouth? But with Scott, it’s different, it’s fast or slow or somewhere in between but it always feels like he’s reaching out, with his tongue, like he’s paying attention to what feels good until he gets swept away in the energy which builds between them, which is such a dumb thing to even think but it just makes Stiles ache with how much he loves this, with how coming home to Scott makes him feel present and sane and good.

Stiles kisses Scott with every ounce of this, and Scott whines, ruts his hips up into Stiles and Stiles realizes all at once just how very close to naked Scott is beneath him. 

Scott protests when he pulls back but Stiles drags him inside the back door and into the kitchen, and Scott hisses at the cold of the refrigerator door when Stiles shoves him up against it. Stiles grins and drops to his knees, taking Scott’s infinitesimally small underwear with him and giving him the sloppiest, messiest, most lovingly filthy blowjob he’s ever given in his entire life.

By the time he lets Scott come, his knees are screaming and Scott’s eyes are steadily leaking tears, but Scott is wrung out and shaky and the noises he keeps making make Stiles feel like a GOD. 

He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth, breathing hard and lips sore, and just watches Scott slide down to the floor in front of him. Scott’s soft and he’s totally going to get jizz on the floor, and Stiles is pretty sure his own pants are about to cut off his circulation at the junk level, but Stiles doesn’t even care, and he waits for Scott to catch his breath before crawling in close, kissing him tenderly on his sweaty face. 

Scott paws at him weakly and makes half-hearted protests about boyfriends who come home and ruin perfectly good naps with the best blowjobs ever to exist on this planet. Stiles just grins smugly and pets his hair. His life is the best thing ever. 

\---

Finally, Scott catches his breath and Stiles drags him up off the floor and into a hug. They stand there for a minute, breathing each other in, Stiles so aware of Scott’s nakedness and his own clothing rough against Scott’s bare skin, soft and paler than normal over his belly and thighs. 

His hands wander, because Scott’s ass is just right there, and he’s still turned on as hell, and Scott laughs and wiggles impossibly closer, but then winces as his sensitive dick gets pressed up into an awkward spot between them. He pulls away and Stiles mourns the loss of his hot little ass in his hands, but Scott just grabs a box of pizza from the fridge in one hand and Stiles’ belt buckle in the other, leaving Stiles to grab the abandoned underwear to toss into the hamper on their way to their room.

Stiles loves their space. It’s just big enough for the two of them and their bed is almost a nest, blankets tangled over too many pillows, Scott’s hippie tapestries from Melissa (that Stiles secretly loves) lining the walls and making their room cozy. 

Scott drops the pizza off on the bed and goes to open a window, stretching brazenly and grabbing a jar of what Stiles knows is the good stuff, grown in Lydia’s setup and tested thoroughly. They haven’t smoked in a week or two, because Stiles has been so busy with work and school and they just haven’t had much of a chance to be together, but now in the late afternoon sun is the perfect time. 

Stiles takes the opportunity to shed a few layers, down to his boxers and a t-shirt, and makes himself comfortable on their bed with a slice of pizza in one hand, the other cupped lovingly around Scott’s ankle. He sits and eats and thinks idly to himself while Scott rolls a joint with the peach-flavored papers he knows Stiles likes because it makes their lips taste sweet when they shotgun.

Scott offers the joint to Stiles first and Stiles waves it off, mutters something about it being Scott’s turn but really he just wants to watch Scott flick the lighter and inhale, see that blissful slow blink as Scott breathes out steadily, watching Stiles the whole time. It’s easy for Stiles to crawl closer, taking the joint when offered and pressing a kiss to Scott’s lips in return, sticky and sweet and slow. 

The kiss is drugging in itself, slow and tender and precious. When Stiles pulls back he just looks at Scott for a second, taking in the hazy dilation of his pupils, the smile that Stiles always gets (sober or not) that’s a little bit brighter, a little bit softer than the ones Scott gives to anyone else. 

Stiles can’t help but smile, and he distracts himself from the wave of _oh my god i am so lucky_ as he takes his first hit. Of course that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth as he exhales, and Scott laughs, grabbing Stiles’ t-shirt and pulling him in to keep kissing him. They trade hits and kisses lazily, until the joint is burned down to nothing and their hands can’t stop wandering, tickling up sensitive skin and over hipbones that demand fingerprints. 

Scott flips Stiles suddenly and Stiles feels his world tilt, not sure which way is up for a moment, but he rolls with it, knows he’s in good hands. He moans as soon as Scott gets his hands in Stiles’ boxers, tugging them down just to expose his ass and gripping it in both hands. 

“Fuck, I can’t believe this, fuck, Stiles, your ass is just like… so good. It’s so good,” Scott sounds awed and Stiles doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so instead he pushes his ass back into Scott’s hands and just feels it, lets Scott run his thumbs up and down the sensitive skin there at the center of him.

They work their way up to it, but they fuck just like that, slow and close and sweaty, Stiles pressed down into the bed with the pressure on his dick so much and yet not enough in a way that makes him want to scream, and Scott just pressing into him and tugging out, again and again and again. 

Stiles is desperate to come and wants to so badly but Scott just keeps fucking him until Stiles goes limp, giving up and letting Scott just give and give and give it to him until he’s shaking and whimpery, strung out on the edge of orgasm for what feels like forever. 

Scott keeps whispering to him that they’re perfect, this is perfect, and when he reaches below Stiles to thumb and pinch his nipples as he sucks a mark into Stiles’ neck, the pressure of the bedspread a slow, torturous drag, Stiles feels it all rushing up to meet him, finally, “fuck, Scotty, please,” and it jolts through his gut and his thighs and his chest, emptying him so thoroughly that he can barely feel Scott swearing and shaking right along with him, filling up the tight clutch of him as they shake together in the heat of their bed. 

Stiles breathes, and shudders hard, and clings close to Scott’s heavy weight above him, feeling the pleasure drain out until he’s shaky and exhausted and numb. Scott just stays, holding Stiles and breathing him in and keeping them grounded, nosing at the sweaty hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck and pressing soft, sleepy kisses there. 

“Can I move?” Scott asks softly, and Stiles mumbles a negative, so Scott stays, because even though they’re going to be sticky and gross the closeness matters more right now, and they just hold each other, and breathe. 

Nature calls eventually (and the sun’s going down, which means they need more pizza probably), and they toddle off to the shower together, trying to stay touching the whole time. They soap each others’ hair and kiss and Stiles spits water at Scott and Scott is so offended, but Stiles just laughs, because he’s in love and he’s so glad to have afternoons like this one, making everything else worth it for this feeling of being home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment if you love these idiot boys, don't think there's enough domestic fluff stoner skittles in the world and want to cry about it, general feelings, etc ;P


End file.
